Two Roads
by Flying Iridescent Llamas
Summary: Rinkah was never one to let the workings of fate dictate her path. (Spoilers for Birthright. Inspired by theme #44, Two Roads.)


Rinkah was never one to let the workings of fate dictate her path.

Growing up as one of the (many) princesses of the Flame Tribe, Rinkah had always been criticized by her sisters for many things. She'd always ignored them. Listening to herself was what had gotten her this far in life.

"Too rough," they scolded when she was dragged in by her ear after breaking the nose of the son of her father's war advisor. He later decided to train her after seeing her fierce spirit in the face of injustice (rather, his son tying the paws of a kitten together).

"Too dirty," they sighed as she stomped through their shared quarters, covered with grime after being thrown into the mud by her teacher for the umpteenth time for her pride. Soon, she'd learn to pick herself back up and keep fighting instead of giving up.

"Too practical," they assured her after she rejected her fortune to be told by some sticks in a market. She had no need for the diviner's nonsense. The future didn't need to be told to her; she would make her own path to follow.

Now, she wondered if she could have known. If those sticks would have told another's future alongside her own, another road that she could have taken to avoid this. Surely that was what her sisters hoped for when they watched as their own futures were cast before them. She never had stopped to think that someone could have stood by her side as well.

She felt the absence beside her when the group returned to their small fort after descending the harsh mountain, one man short and no body to show for it. There was no body to be found, they told her. They watched her carefully for her reaction. Everyone had known except them in the end, until they had let themselves realize it as well. She schooled her face and simply nodded to acknowledge their information.

"Too stoic," they whispered as they left her by the fire alone. Only Corrin had come back to apologize, to tell Rinkah that it had been her fault. She assured Corrin it could not be; Kaze would never let something like that happen unless it was totally out of his control. He'd certainly not seen the landslide coming.

She let herself lean a little heavier on her club as she stood watch against celestial intruders at the gate later that night. Finally, her grief draped itself onto her shoulders, seeping down into her skin and settling in her bones in a sharp, resounding ache.

It had only been a few weeks ago, over yet another bag of those stupid sweets he kept procuring for her. It was only then that she had started to consider another road beside her own in life, running steadily next to hers over every hill and valley they came across. Her sisters would be so proud of their little Rinkah finally taking interest in someone beyond a sparring opponent. She would not get to tell them now.

"Too cute," he'd told her once as she popped a sweet in her mouth. Her face had burned as he laughed and for the first time, Rinkah cared what someone had said about her.

She wondered how many times he'd intended to tell her before then, how many bags of sweets had that purpose before being abandoned by an extremely bashful ninja. She'd certainly been guilty of prolonging it herself.

She stared at the road leading out from the camp to where it started to disappear, either from lack of light in the unnatural night or the fraying edge of the reality they resided in. What could she have done, she pondered, to make their roads go on together just a bit longer? Maybe if she'd confessed sooner, or if she had gone on the mountain with him to pull him away from the edge instead of staying behind. Maybe if she'd been softer, kinder to him, he would have stayed behind for once instead of going with Corrin.

Their roads had so violently diverged now, his own tapering off like the road before her. There would be no more bags of sweets, no more stolen moments under shady trees and after the rush of battle. There would just be her and her practicality, paving the future once again after she'd let fate decide for just once in her life. Never again, she swore.

Rinkah hadn't even been able to say goodbye to him.

She would not be alone for long, she reminded herself as a shadow approached her, creeping along the wall hesitantly. Orochi paused at the edge of the torch light, as if waiting for her permission to approach. That alone almost made her snort. The diviner rarely asked anyone for anything, preferring to make her own way through life much like Rinkah. Now, though, she waited. Was it out of pity? Or out of respect?

Rinkah inclined her head in a nod, signaling for the other woman to approach before training her eyes back on the road. Orochi was welcome to keep her company, but Rinkah would gladly keep up the pretense of guard duty if it meant she could skip the pity she feared would come from the other woman.

Instead, Orochi was silent, studying the fading road alongside her. The fan in her hands was continually spread open and snapped shut as they stood side by side.

"What will you do now?" she finally asked, voice quiet.

Rinkah considered the question for a moment.

"If you mean as far as what I'm going to do next," she answered slowly, "I'll do what I've always done. I'll keep paving my own path, fighting this war, until it's finished. Then? Then maybe I'll go back to my tribe. I've been a lot of firsts, so why not become the first female chieftain? Not like my old man's got any sons to take over for him."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Orochi give her a tight lipped smile. Not the answer she was looking for, then, but Rinkah knew that when Orochi had asked. She wasn't freely going to give this woman answers, though, not when she knew who they would be going back to. Orochi wouldn't get the chance, though.

"And the child?"

Rinkah turned around to eye Saizo where he stood, just barely in the shadows. She'd never been a fan of the man, even with Kaze's assurance that his general shitty disposition was (mostly) a front. She then shot Orochi a withering look and the diviner shrank back. Apparently, she had wasted no time in telling Saizo after Rinkah herself had found out.

"What would you like me to answer?" she spat.

"It should be raised to know its father's family," he told her coolly. "There would be no end of support for you as well. Both you and the child would want for nothing, and it would be raised to carry on its father's legacy."

Rinkah felt rage kindle like fire in her chest and it must have showed on her face because Orochi stepped between them before the two could rip out each other's throats. She held up her hands and gave the two an uneasy smile. Even with her own temper, Orochi was ever the mediator.

"Rinkah," she started before gulping nervously at the princess's murderous expression, "what were your thoughts then?"

"I was planning just to see this war out," she started, never breaking eye contract with Saizo. "I was going to make a decision after it ended. One thing's for certain though: I am not letting those bastards turn my child into a war machine!"

"And you can say you won't do the same, in your barbaric tribe?" Saizo snapped back. "I would think it worse! At least our clan has honor!"

"Hardly!" Rinkah snarled back. "Your honor makes child soldiers from birth, binds them to a destiny that they never chose. At least my child will have a choice! You never did! Kaze never did! I will not do that to my child!"

Saizo turned away from her with a huff and melted back into the shadows. Rinkah's chest harshly fell up and down as she drug in a breath to feed the fire in her chest. Orochi's hands fell as she watched Saizo disappear.

"Why did you tell him, Orochi?" Rinkah demanded. "I approached you for your help because I thought you would be discrete!"

"He has a right to know about his brother's child," Orochi said weakly.

"He does not have a right to my child!" Rinkah growled. "This is why I wanted to keep this quiet! I'll be damned if I sell my child into that clan for my own comfort. Do you want that for your own child?"

Orochi flinched, hands cradling her already rounding belly. Her face was troubled.

"I never…" she started.

"That damn man only cares for his legacy," Rinkah told her. "I pray to the merciful gods you don't carry a boy within you, or he'll be damned to his father's life."

With that, she lugged her club up onto her shoulder as Silas approached to take over her watch. She shoved him out of the way as she stormed off, much to the poor knight's confusion.

Kaze's path may not have joined her own for long but he had shown her that while she didn't have to leave her own twisting road to fate, she also didn't have to go at it alone. He'd never had much of a chance to choose his path, and she knew it was something he had regretted at times.

Rinkah quickly found her room in the barracks and slammed the door, uncaring if she'd woken up everyone else. To hell with them, she thought. If they had an issue with her bad mood, they could take it up with its cause, Saizo.

After abandoning her weapon in the corner of the room, she collapsed on the bed and let the fire in her chest die down as she contemplated the small life within her. It was too early to know for sure if she'd even carry it to term but the small part of her, the part that blushed at Kaze's compliments and eventually let him into her life, hoped it would survive.

She'd been left with almost nothing of his, other than a small bag of sweets, a now-dried flower crown he'd dropped on her head one day, and one of his knives. This child would be one of the few things left of him in the world, and she'd be damned if anyone set its path for it before it was even born.

If this child survived this war, survived the birth, it would be what Kaze always wanted: free to choose its own path. Where one road ended suddenly, a new one sprang up beside her own.

And if it were anything like Rinkah, fate would just have to take a hike.


End file.
